


Pattern

by leiascully



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Dreams, Gen, X-Files OctoberFicFest 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:34:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22079302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leiascully/pseuds/leiascully
Summary: She has this dream that they’re flying.
Kudos: 2





	Pattern

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline: n/a  
> A/N: For the Inktober prompt "pattern".

She has this dream that they’re flying. It’s one of those old-fashioned planes, with double-decker wings and two cockpits. A biplane. She’s in the back seat, gazing at Mulder’s head. She always knows it’s Mulder’s head, even though he’s wearing a sheepskin helmet and goggles. She doesn’t bother to call out to him. The wind would steal her words, whisk them away to drop down over the fields like snow.

In her dream, Mulder’s steering. She’s just there in case something happens: he flings himself out of the plane playing Icarus, or his controls detach from the rest of the system. She has nothing to do but squint through her goggles, gazing over the scenery below. At first, it’s just farms and fields tied together by ribbons of road and river. Random, organic. Exactly what she expected. But then she starts to see patterns. She sees her life and Mulder’s, twined together. They fly further, steady in the sky, and she cranes her neck over the side, the wind buffeting her. She watches the pattern repeat again and again, their two strands sometimes pulled apart, sometimes almost indistinguishable. One cuts off. She can’t tell which - they’re too close by then. She reaches forward and taps Mulder on the shoulder with cold-numbed fingers. He turns his head and says something indistinguishable. When she looks down again it’s just blank expanses of snow. The stars come out one by one, pricking pictures into the blue. All the truths she glimpsed are gone. They soar together, buoyed on the noise of the engines. The little plane noses through the dusk into the endless space of night.

And then she wakes up, and remembers nothing but the unintelligible rumble of Mulder’s voice and a feeling of weightlessness.


End file.
